


Atropa belladonna, or how an angel and a demon finally get to relax (whilst, of course, surrounded by natural poisons)

by Nemeris (Eris18)



Series: herbarum amicitiam [4]
Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Apparently I'm still not tagging these properly, Can someone please let Crowley take a nap?, M/M, Two idiots who are on a date and won't admit it's a date, poisonous plants
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-20
Updated: 2019-06-20
Packaged: 2020-05-15 06:46:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19290391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eris18/pseuds/Nemeris
Summary: Crowley supposed thatjust maybe, Aziraphale was right about getting out of London. That said, if he saw anything evenresemblinga group of four loud children and a small dog, he was hailing a taxi and goingstraightback home.





	Atropa belladonna, or how an angel and a demon finally get to relax (whilst, of course, surrounded by natural poisons)

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a demon, who has just survived a failed apocalypse, must be in want of some peace and quiet. 

Which is why Crowley was swearing under his breath as he answered his front door, still wrapped in his duvet. He swore out loud when he saw who was on the other side of it1. 

“Crowley!” Aziraphale was happy about something; this did not bode well for Crowley’s current plan to do absolutely bugger all for the foreseeable future. “I thought we could-” 

“No,” Crowley growled, trying to close the door again. Unfortunately, Aziraphale’s foot prevented him from shutting it completely. Despite trying to slam it a couple of times, Crowley eventually gave up, sighing and retreating to his office throne and trying to get comfortable2. Aziraphale, of course, ignored this; he walked into the room and started an entire conversation by, and mostly with, himself. 

“As I was saying, I thought we could go somewhere. Get out of London. Do a day trip.” 

Crowley partially poked his head out of the duvet, peering suspiciously at his ~~friend~~ ~~current annoyance~~ non-malicious3 intruder. Had Aziraphale not learned that _bad things happen_4 outside of London? 

However, Aziraphale was looking at him rather earnestly. Pouting, almost. Crowley groaned and stood up, shedding his duvet. 

“ _Fine_ ,” he said. “Where?” 

“Oh, just that picnic I mentioned a while back,” Aziraphale replied, grinning. “You go get dressed, I’ll sort you some coffee.” 

Crowley shuffled to his room, dragging his duvet behind him. As he got ready, he could hear Aziraphale preparing things in the kitchen. When he finally dragged himself out of his room, Aziraphale was already standing there, holding out a cup of fresh coffee. Crowley took it, downed it (it had 4 sugars, perfect), handed the mug back to Aziraphale, and waited for the caffeine to kick in. 

“Toast?” Aziraphale waved a plate containing smashed avocado toast with...was that chilli flakes? Crowley couldn’t remember if he even _had_ chilli flakes5. Crowley took the plate and practically inhaled the food, still not really awake enough to be conversational. 

It wasn’t until he was sat on a coach leaving Victoria Station, a picnic basket on his lap, that he even realised that they were on their way...somewhere. 

“...Where are we going?” he asked whilst trying to lift one of the flaps on the basket. Aziraphale pushed it back down before Crowley could see inside. 

“The Alnwick Garden,” Aziraphale replied. “It’s meant to have some very interesting poisonous plants.” 

“...That’s _nearly eight hours_ away,” Crowley whined. 

“Normally, yes,” Aziraphale said. “However, it seems that this bus will get there, _somehow_ , in less than two.” 

“Ah, right,” Crowley said. “...And why an actual basket?” 

“I believe,” Aziraphale replied, pulling a book from...somewhere, “that the youths call it ‘aesthetic’.” 

Aziraphale began to read; Crowley wondered exactly what “youths” that Aziraphale would have been talking to6, but decided to let it go in favour of closing his eyes and napping the journey away. 

He woke up to Aziraphale gently shaking his shoulder. 

“Crowley,” Aziraphale whispered. “We’re here. Well, there’s another small walk, but this is where we get off the coach, at least.” 

Crowley nodded and followed Aziraphale off the coach, making sure to bring the picnic basket with him. As they walked along, Crowley could see that they were in a pretty, if small, town. It was the kind of place that could be described as “bustling” in the right circumstances, and “picturesque” the rest of the time. He could see a castle in the distance, though not exactly in the direction they were walking. 

As they continued, Crowley could feel himself almost enjoying the _niceness_ of it all. That thought annoyed him slightly, given that demons and _niceness_ don’t generally mix in any way shape or form. To make up for it, he used small demonic miracles to make several people fall over as he and Aziraphale walked past. Aziraphale tutted at him, but didn’t tell him to stop. 

Crowley supposed that _just maybe_7, Aziraphale was right about getting out of London. That said, if he saw anything even _resembling_ a group of four loud children and a small dog, he was hailing a taxi and going _straight_ back home. 

He watched as a mother walked along with her daughter, both eating ice creams. Elsewhere, a woman was squealing as she accepted her boyfriend’s proposal. Crowley could feel his hackles rising slightly; ignoring the child, he chose instead to make the couple drop the ring and have it roll away into some long grass. They’d find it eventually... 

“...Capability Brown!” Aziraphale finished. Crowley had no idea what he’d _said_ , but that _name_... 

“Ugh, _him_ ,” Crowley replied, wrinkling his nose. 

“Ah,” Aziraphale said. “Right. I had forgotten that you and he had...argued.” 

“It was a bit more than an argument, angel,” Crowley said. “He stole my carriage and then tried to _sell it back_ to me. _And_ he was an insufferable, smug know-it-all.” 

“Hmm,” Aziraphale responded. “Of course. _Totally_ unlike anyone we know.” 

Crowley rolled his eyes. Aziraphale, having finally chosen a picnic spot, took the basket from Crowley and started setting up. Crowley kept watching the other people around; the newly engaged couple had found the ring. He briefly contemplated making them drop it again, just on principle, when suddenly there was a sandwich in his line of vision. 

“Eat,” said Aziraphale, “and stop tormenting the mortals.” 

“That’s my _job_ ,” Crowley was quick to point out. 

“ _Was_ your job,” Aziraphale looked at him pointedly. “At the moment, you are a free spirit. Apart from whatever it is that you do freelance.” 

Crowley took a bite out of his sandwich, mostly to make a point. It was peanut butter and jam; a combination Crowley had always liked, surprisingly. As he ate, he surreptitiously snapped his fingers and chuckled as the ring once again slipped off the woman’s finger and rolled away. Feeling very pleased with himself, he finished his sandwich and went to reach into the picnic basket; Aziraphale was there, giving him a Disappointed Look. 

“What?” he asked. 

“You _know_ what,” Aziraphale replied, snapping his own fingers. Whilst the original ring might have been lost, the newly engaged couple _did_ manage to find a ring with a bigger, shinier diamond. 

Crowley tutted. 

“Honestly,” he said. “Every time?” 

“Better too much than too little,” Aziraphale said8. “Now there’s another sandwich in there for you.” 

“I don’t even usually _eat_ ,” Crowley sighed. “Between that sandwich and the toast earlier, honestly I’m set for the next century or so, thanks.” 

“Fine,” Aziraphale said. “At least have something to drink? There should be some Pinot Noir - will you play Mo-” 

“Only if you don’t finish that completely asinine phrase,” Crowley said, reaching into the basket and pulling out the bottle and two glasses. 

The newlywed couple left, bewildered but happy. The mother and child bought more ice-cream, and there was no sign of a quartet of children accompanied by a domesticated Hellhound. Crowley, therefore, allowed himself to relax as Aziraphale ate, and they both drank. 

Aziraphale continued talking about Capability Brown9; Crowley laid back, gazed at the sky, and made sure to turn some clouds into various shapes for his own amusement. He even managed to successfully block out everything Aziraphale was saying10 enough to fall into an almost-nap for a while. 

Unfortunately, this was apparently not permitted in God’s Ineffable Plan; Crowley was rudely awakened by something licking his face. When he opened his eyes, he found himself face-to-face with a small terrier. He absolutely _did not_ scream and roll away in an undignified manner11. He looked around for a group of four loud children, absolutely ready to run all the way back to London. Instead, he found a slightly sheepish looking teenager holding an unattached leash. Crowley glared over the top of his glasses. 

“Uh...sorry,” the teenager said, clipping the leash back onto his dog’s collar and pulling it away. “Come on, Alan.” 

Crowley had the patience to wait until the boy was out of earshot before turning to Aziraphale, who was looking ever so nonchalantly at the sky and trying not to smile. 

“Who the heaven calls a dog _Alan_?!” Crowley threw his arms up, frustrated; Aziraphale lost his composure and started to giggle. Crowley paused, and then he was grinning12. 

“Come on,” Aziraphale said, once he’d calmed down, “let’s go see the poisonous plants.” 

Crowley looked around, about to tidy up the picnic basket and such13, when he found that it had already gone; he looked up to see the end of a patented Aziraphale Hand FlourishTM. 

“Right,” he said. “Lead the way?” 

As they walked toward the Poison Garden, they passed by the teenager and “Alan”14. Crowley smirked to himself as the boy, for absolutely no reason whatsoever, fell flat on his face and let go of the lead; “Alan” ran off, leaving his owner to pick himself up and run after the rapidly escaping canine. Aziraphale was obviously _trying_ to look disappointed, but the fact that he was smiling sort of ruined whatever impact he’d hoped to have. 

The signs on the gates to the garden unsubtly declared the deadliness of the plants behind them. Crowley and Aziraphale blithely ignored these warnings as they went in15, finding themselves surrounded by such delights as [Atropa belladonna](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Atropa_belladonna) and [Conium maculatum](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Conium_maculatum). To Crowley, these plants were fascinating: the human equivalent of holy water. He reached out and stroked a few hemlock fronds as he walked past, before poking at some deadly nightshade16. 

“Of course,” Aziraphale said, “Capability Brown didn’t design the gardens as they are _today_...” 

“Aziraphale,” Crowley groaned, “if I have to think about that bastard _again_ today I swear I’ll...do something that I’ll think of in a moment.” 

Crowley was too tired to even think of a proper threat, it seemed. Oh, well, hopefully he wouldn’t need to, since this was Aziraphale and he usually list- 

“He just designed the _original_ gardens,” Aziraphale continued. “Of course, that all changed during World War II, when-” 

Crowley turned around and started walking away. 

“No,” he said without looking back. “I _know_ how many bloody gardens Capability buggering Brown designed. He talked about them _incessantly_ , and they _all looked the damned same_.” 

He headed back toward the gate, his mood even more thoroughly soured. He was just about to go back into the main garden when he felt Aziraphale’s hand on his arm. Crowley turned around to face him. 

“Don’t go,” Aziraphale said, quiet and a bit sad. “I just...” 

Crowley arched an eyebrow, waiting. 

“You’re the one who knows plants,” Aziraphale said. 

“So you’re trying to, what, keep up with me?” Crowley asked. 

“In a _way_ , yes,” Aziraphale sounded hesitant. “It’s more...” he sighed, letting his hand fall from Crowley’s arm. “This is a plant garden. You like plants.” 

“That’s true,” Crowley replied, unsure. It took Crowley a moment to figure this one out; when it finally clicked, his eyes widened17. “Wait. Are you saying-?! You brought me here, with the picnic, and the plants, and-and...!” 

“We made plans to do this,” Aziraphale was definitely panicking. “You remember! When I gave you the holy water!” 

“...That was in _1967_!” Crowley yelled, arms flailing. 

“Yes, well, we _have_ been rather _busy_!” Aziraphale replied. 

Crowley stopped short; he couldn’t really argue with that. He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He was so very, very tired; he was honestly considering napping into a different century again. He closed his eyes, taking a few moments to compose himself, not wanting to...whatever this situation. Eventually, he took a deep breath, and looked back at Aziraphale. He smiled. It took effort, but there wasn’t an ounce of smirk or sneer in it. Aziraphale gave him a small, soft smile in return. 

It wasn’t until they were on the coach home, Aziraphale reading a book beside him, that Crowley turned away from the window. 

“I...had a good time,” he whispered, fiddling with the mesh pocket in front of him and twanging it against the seat back. 

Aziraphale’s lips twitched upward slightly, and he nodded once, but otherwise gave no indication that he’d heard. Crowley reclined his seat as much as he could18 and settled in to nap for the rest of the journey. 

* * *

  1. He had just spent a week saving the world; his capacity for “peopling” was understandably somewhat diminished. [▲] 
  2. Also known as bundling himself up into his duvet and trying to hide. [▲]
  3. To be confirmed. [▲]
  4. See: the recent failed apocalypse. [▲]
  5. Or avocado. Or bread. Crowley rather suspected that Aziraphale had either brought these things with him, or had performed an entirely unnecessary breakfast miracle. [▲]
  6. Especially as The Them were very much _not_ the kind of humans that would _use_ that word. [▲]
  7. Though he would _never_ say this out loud. [▲]
  8. Though he did blush a little. Aziraphale (a being of love), whilst having been alive for over 6000 years, had as yet been unable to grasp exactly _how much_ love to inject into a situation. [▲]
  9. Which annoyed Crowley, but the soothing cadence of Aziraphale’s voice overrode that. Mostly. [▲]
  10. They had _met_ that annoying tosser, why was the history lesson necessary? [▲]
  11. Crowley should be glad that he is not a Catholic, for it is a mortal (albeit forgivable) sin to lie. [▲]
  12. He was definitely in no way thinking that Aziraphale’s giggle was adorable. Except that he was. [▲]
  13. Whilst he might be a demon, he _had_ just saved the world. What would be the point in doing that if he was just going to litter? [▲]
  14. Crowley even _thought_ the air quotes. [▲]
  15. Also ignoring the need for a tour guide, which is something that humans cannot do if they want to see these particular plants in this particular place. [▲]
  16. It should be noted that Crowley is an immortal and thus can touch the lethal plants. The author assumes that you, reading this, are human, and so should absolutely not touch these plants AT ALL. EVER. [▲]
  17. Inasmuch as no one could see it happening, as he was still wearing his sunglasses. But it still happened. [▲]
  18. He got an added demonic thrill from knowing that the person behind now had no space for their knees. [▲]




End file.
